


(Hold Me Closer) Tiny Dancer

by Foxipaw



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Forgiveness, Growth, Healing, Love, M/M, Minor Triggers, compassion - Freeform, freelance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-15
Updated: 2016-03-18
Packaged: 2018-05-26 21:57:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6257446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Foxipaw/pseuds/Foxipaw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke treats her Agoraphobia the way her father treated his: By making her living as a freelance photographer. She fears crowds, cities, and the dangers of an urban environment but is utterly in her element out in the world. Lexa has been the captive of an abusive father for her whole life, but the world is a dark place and even her escape doesn't go as planned. The two come together in an epic tale of truth, healing, and love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> First off, thank you for reading!!! I plan on making this a longer fic with many chapters, so let me know what you think!
> 
> Trigger Warning: Physical abuse and implied sexual abuse.

Clarke leaned over the sink, water dripping from her face. It was cold, but her knees still shook. Her grip of the porcelain tightened, and she closed her eyes so that she did not have to see her reflection in the mirror. Her hair was tangled and thanks to her fitful sleep, the bags under her eyes were even darker than they had been yesterday. The hotel room seemed too small, and it was growing smaller every second.

She focused on her breathing.

Her mother had put her up to this. Fitful letters put through to Clarke by her agent, the only one who had a reliable way to find her at any given moment. She had _begged_ her to come home for the funeral, and she _wanted_ to... But the city was a monster and she felt as though she was being consumed. So many sounds, so much commotion, all of the people coming and going... She cursed her father's family for being New York natives.

Loss still pierced her heart like a bolt, and thinking of it sent a jolt of pain lancing through her. She stumbled backwards and sat down on the lid of the toilet, shoulders slumping and head lolling. She couldn't do this...

Once her head stopped spinning Clarke darted back to the main room, and began hastily packing her one bag. She'd gotten clean laundry, that was one thing to be thankful for. She'd gotten water and had even forced herself into a small asian grocery for another bag of rice. Jake had always told her that with time and practice it got easier, but she'd never been able to go home, like he had.

Even though the guilt of it clawed at her, her packing grew more and more frantic.

 

\- - - - - -

 

Lexa pressed herself into the wall, trying to make herself seem as small as possible. Her father's rage was an amazing thing, though somewhat harder to appreciate when on it's receiving end. He swayed, and his left had clutched a mostly drained bottle while his right had been clenched into a fist. Her mother sat on the couch, deaf to it all, burping the baby. It was a foster child, it was their second try, and the tax breaks weren't so bad either.

Her father's palm slammed against the wall, inches from her ear. She jumped, and in her fright let out a startled whimper. She paled at her mistake.

“You listenin' to me?” he roared.

She shook her head, tears in her eyes. “No, sir.”

He grabbed the collar of Lexa's t-shirt and tossed her against the book shelf as easily as tossing a faggot of sticks. If it hadn't hurt so much, she might have laughed at her own twisted sense of humor. The shelves bit into her back in three places and she knew it would bruise.

He yanked her up by her hair, and she struggled on her tip toes to support herself, to alleviate the pain. “Dean tells me you're skipping class, huh? Tells me in front of all my work buddies! How do you think that makes me feel?” He dropped her, and she fell in a heap. He grunted, and a spark lit behind his drunken eyes. He had an idea. “You, stay.”

Lexa's feet tingled with pins and needles. _Run_ , a voice screamed at her. Her eyes darted to the door as he turned and made for the stairs. He was headed for the basement, unfinished, littered with scraps of wood and rebarb, and where he kept his golf clubs. _Run, you idiot._

Her eyes darted back to her mother, still rocking on the couch, like a metronome. It was hardly human. The baby was crying but Lexa wasn't sure she noticed. Her father's feet were heavy on the stairs, headed down. She bolted into the kitchen, and yanked open a drawer. Far, far in the back where it had been long forgotten by anyone but her, was Anya's pocket knife. Long and mean and from Vietnam, she swore. Her fist closed around it, and she heard a confused noise from her father below her. He'd noticed the noise.

Lexa ran.

He was coming up the stairs like a bull, thundering and bellowing and nothing human. She threw open the door and had a foot on the porch when his arm closed around her wrist and tugged her backwards. In a whirl she flung open the knife and lashed out, not sure what she might be striking at, but he howled and let her go. She fell backwards, rolled, and came up running.

 

\- - - - - -

 

Clarke sat in the cab, staring at the floor, like she always did. It smelled like grease and oil and someone else's perfume, and the seats were too rough. She hated it. She continued to ramble on within her mind, listing all the things she hated about cabs and cities and crowds and all of it, trying to keep herself occupied. She did not look up. She never did.

Her father had called it Agorahphobia, and he'd had it too. Doctors told them both that it is sometimes genetic, and sometimes people got over it, but there was no cure. While technically a broad term meaning fear of your environment, most people felt it in fear of open spaces but she was just the opposite. She feared crowds, cities, confinement, society. The judging eyes and the sour feeling of it all... Just as Jake had.

He and Abby had been friends, and for a while they'd been a little bit more, but Jake wasn't really the commitment type. When Clarke came along by accident, the two had agreed it would be better for Abby to raise her, but Jake would visit when he could, and support them however he could. When Clarke turned five she'd begun to act the same way Jake had, and Abby's Mother-in-Law had flown in the next day.

So it became that Clarke would spend the school year with her mother, and summers with Jake traveling wherever his muse took him. He was a well known wildlife photographer and many different magazines had him on retainer. He always told her it was the greatest thing someone like them could hope for, and she'd agreed. He got her her first camera at ten, and by then school had grown so difficult for her, the relationship between her and her mother so tense, that Abby gave Clarke the choice.

Jake gave her a standard homeschool education, enough to satisfy Abby, but to Clarke he was teaching her so much more. She learned to ride horses in Mongolia, she learned to tap maple trees in Ontario, she'd gone seal hunting in Siberia, and raced alongside a dog team during the Iditarod. Her father had given her so much more, a life most people only dreamed of... Tears leaked out of the corner of her eyes.

When he'd retired five years ago, his sponsors had been pleasantly surprised to find his daughter an apt apprentice. She was still fighting to make a name for herself. She knew the respect Jake had accrued over a lifetime would not come over night, but that was never really the point of it anyways. A shudder ran through her, that had nothing to do with her sorrow. She felt as if the city were leaning in on her, about to fall and consume her. The darkness of her fear made her feet itch to run, but there was no where to go. She took another deep breath, and looked up.

She _never_ looked up, as a rule, but Clarke was glad that she did.

Her eyes peered into a dark alley, where three men stood over something small and pale. Their dingy hoodies made it hard to see their characteristics but easy to know their character. Clarke recognized what was happening in a moment.

“Stop!”

The cabbie slammed on the brakes and she pitched forward. Clarke flung open the door of the car and bolted out.

“Hey!” she cried out, voice sharp, like a lash. The three men looked up. One caught site of her and laughed. He pointed at her and laughed. Clarke bent and scooped a stone off the street and lobbed it at him. It struck his temple and he dropped. _Manaus, Brazil_ she thought with a sad smile. They'd spent a month with an uncontacted tribe in the Amazon, and the other children had taught her to hunt birds that way.

The other two men spun on her, hands curved like claws and grasping for her. She pulled her own knives from within her boots. It wasn't often she had to use them on anything but thick brush and brambles, but every time she did she'd been glad she had them. The blades along were each six inches long, serrated at the bottom, and mean looking. One man had fear in in his eyes, and Clarke darted his way. He flinched backwards, and when his friend came at her side she grasped his outstretched arm, lifted her knee up against the elbow joint, and popped it.

He howled and dropped, clutching his arm. Clarke vaulted over him and kicked the backside of the other man's knee as his tried to flee. He fell on it, hard. _Kyoto, Japan._ She held him at knife point, and looked up to find the cabbie still parked, staring at her with wide-mouthed astonishment.

“Call the police, you moron!” she called out, bewildered.

He jolted, and began fumbling for his phone.

Clarke leaned down to the man below her, still cowering under the tip of her blade. “You move, and I chuck this knife into the back of your skull.” _Bielefeld, Germany._ He shook his head up and down, much to jerky for a nod, but good enough. “I hope your friend heard that, too. You might wanna remind him if he does anything funny.”

Clarke stood up and rushed to the figure in the alley. A young woman lay there, near enough to her age but Clarke couldn't guess it for certain. She seemed half conscious, either drunk or drugged, and her body was littered with bruises and cuts. Clarke's stomach filled with rage.

“Hey,” she said softly. “Hey, can you hear me?”

She knelt down in the alley, and found it both wet and filthy. The girl was soaked, and very cold. Her long chestnut hair was tangled and dirty, half of her face covered in grime. Clarke held out a hand, fingers shaking, wanting to brush it off but scared to touch something that looked so fragile.

“Do you want to go to the hospital?”

That seemed to shake her a bit, because she groaned and her brows furrowed, fear a distant concept in her eyes. Clarke felt her heart begin to break, and the journalist in her ached for the girl's story.

“Okay,” Clarke breathed out, her voice soft, mind scrambling. “Okay.” The second time it had more conviction. She whipped out her work phone, unlocked it, swiped to the dial pad and hit 1. It was one of only very few numbers in her phone, and the only one in her recent call history.

It rang three times before a fuzzy voice broke over the phone. “Clarke?”

“Jasper,” she answered, strain and stress evident.

“A-Are you okay?” he asked, suddenly more alert. She heard shuffling on his end of the line, and she imagined him sitting up in bed and fumbling for the lamp.

“I am, but a friend isn't. I'm calling in a favor. Call Jaha and tell him I'll do the story, our usual deal. No questions asked.”

“W-Wha? What's going on, Clarke?” Her agent sounded bewildered, but she didn't have time to explain further.

“Thanks, Jazz!”

She hung up.

“Change of plans,” she called out to the cabbie. Clarke returned to the men where there lay, starting with the unconscious one behind her. As she expected, he had three wallets on him, only one of which belonged to him. She left that one. She was no thief, after all. The other men were much the same. From within their stolen loot she pulled out only the cash she thought she'd need. What what left she tossed at the driver. “Better make yourself scarce. If they're smart they'll do the same.” She nodded back at the men.

“Are you insane?” He asked, still slack jawed. She gave the man a good once-over. He was fat, and his white t-shirt had stains on it's front. His hair was thinning in the back, and his 5 o'clock shadow looked about 3 days old. She decided not to let herself be bothered by what he thought of her.

“Most psychologists think so!” she replied cheerily. “I doubt those fuckers will confess to attempted rape, assault, and several muggings if there's no evidence for it. Buy your lover something nice or, hell, buy a lover. I don't care. At least cover my fare.”

A new car rolled up, sleek and black, with tinted windows. It didn't have any plates. The driver's side window rolled down. “Miss Griffin?”

“And guest,” Clarke replied, helping the still dazed girl to her feet.

The driver got out and began to assist her.

When Clarke risked a glance back over, the cabbie was still staring at them. She ushered him on with a waving hand and once more he jolted, jerking into action. He put the cab in drive and pulled away. For a moment Clarke felt guilty for shaking him up so badly, but hell. It was New York. He'd probably seen worse.

 


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lexa wakes up in an unfamiliar place, and Clarke isn't quite sure what she's gotten herself into. The mysterious deal she made with Jaha seems to come with some nice perks, however...

When Lexa woke up she was strangely... warm. The world around her was soft and quiet and warm, and smelled of something... good. _I'm dead,_ she thought. There could be no other explanation. Her eyes cracked open and fluttered at the strength of the light. When she lifted an arm to shield them pain jolted from her elbow up into her shoulder. She gasped and fell back into the pillows, deciding just closing her eyes was easier.

She did not hear the sock-clad feet pad to the window, but when the curtains drew shut Lexa jumped, hissing in pain as her body rebelled once again.

“Easy, easy,” a voice soothed. It was female, and as soft in her ears as these sheets were on her skin. “It's okay. Calm down, you're safe.”

Lexa found that very hard to believe. She'd never been _safe_ , not for longer than a moment or two, anyways. Whatever this was had to be some sort of trick... But for the life of her she couldn't remember where she was or how she'd arrived.

She tried opening her eyes once again and found the room pleasantly dim. After adjusting she blinked, trying to clear away the fog of sleep, and found that her captor was... Oh. She was a young girl, with an hourglass figure and a heart-shaped face. She had and athletic build and a jawline that made Lexa want to-... Lexa coughed.

“W-who are you?” Her voice croaked, and she coughed again, this time with a more honest purpose. The blonde woman handed her a glass of water from where it rested on the bedside table. Lexa took a sip, and relished it's coolness.

“I know this must be weird, but I wasn't sure what else to do.” The brunette looked up at her supposed captor, and waited for her to say more. She seemed nervous, and fidgeted in her seat. “I was headed out of the city when I happened to see you, which was weird enough. After I got those goons off you I asked if you wanted to go to the hospital and you seemed pretty out of it but you said no... I couldn't just _leave_ you so I pulled a few strings- Well, that's not to say that I- I mean...” The girl trailed off when she realized she was rambling. “Anyways, I'm Clarke. Griffin. We're at a friend of mine's property in Stony Point, New York.”

Lexa looked around and found the décor around her rustic, yet modern. The furniture looked to be handcrafted and made of raw logs covered in lacquer. The floors were wooden, rich and dark in color. Paintings of lakes and waterfowl hung on the walls, and through the room's one window she saw a sweeping forest descending into a river valley. Clumps of spring snow were melting on the balcony.

“Why did you...?” The question trailed off. Lexa wasn't sure what to ask. Why, why to _any_ of it, because none of this seemed to make sense. It felt like a dream, but Lexa was certain she was feeling far too much pain for that to be true. She suffered it in silence, but Clarke's eyes focused in when her jaw clenched.

“How are you feeling? Do you want to ibuprofen? I might be able to get something stronger...” She trailed off and her eyebrows furrowed slightly. She chewed her lip and pulled out her phone.

“N-No!” Lexa said lifting an arm, panicked suddenly that she might cause some sort of grief. “No, really, I'm fine. Don't worry about it.”

Clarke paused in her text, eyes lifting just long enough to flit across her body, head to toe, despite most of her still being covered by a plush comforter. Lexa felt heat rise in her cheeks, but she prayed it wouldn't show. The scrutiny was beyond uncomfortable.

“Something stronger for sure,” Clarke decided at last. “Because, excuse my bluntness or whatever, but you look like shit. There's no way you're fine. Are you sure you don't want to go to the hospital?”

Lexa felt a thrill of panic run through her. Last night flashed through her memories, her escape, her _father_. If she went to the hospital, it would be charged to his insurance. He would know, he'd be able to _find_ her. Her breathing began to pick up and Clarke rushed forwards, 'ssh'ing her, trying to soothe her.

“Woah, hey, okay. Never mind! No hospital, I promise.” Her urgency was kind of... funny, and Lexa found herself start to relax. A gentle knock sounded on the door and Clarke beckoned them in. A young man in formal attire came in bearing a small tray with water, a small bottle of pills, some fruit and toast.

“Thanks Martin,” Clarke said with a small smile. The butler of whatever sort grinned back in a rather unprofessional way.

Yet after Clarke took the tray from him he was forgotten, and she turned back to Lexa with a small smile. She set the tray on her bedside, and Lexa looked down to find an assortment of fruit (kiwi, watermelon, honeydew, and raspberries by the look of it,) toast, a plate of salmon and cream cheese, a glass of water, and a tiny bottle of pills.

“Whatever those are, you should have a great day today,” Clarke said with a small laugh and a smile. Lexa looked at them with distrust plain on her face. She opened up the bottle and looked inside. Small and white, they reminded her of pills her mother used to take when Father still let her work.

“No thank you,” she said quietly.

“It's okay, really. They won't hurt you-” Clarke tried to convince her, but it was no use.

“No thank you,” Lexa said again, putting as much force into it as she dared. “I will be fine.” After all, she'd had worse and she was still alive, right? Bruises healed, and she didn't think anything was broken but she'd wait until Clarke had left the room to check more thoroughly.

Clarke softened. It started in her eyes but before long the stubborn will in her posture melted away and she slumped. “Sure, sorry. But let me know if you change your mind, okay?”

She must have sensed the tension in the room because she stood, hands clasped tightly before her. She looked like she wanted to say something, but in the end she just turned around.

Lexa surprised herself by speaking instead. “You don't have to help me. I'll be fine.” After all, it was too much to ask. A random stranger, just taking her in. Lexa might not have had much experience with wealth but she could recognize it just as easily as anyone else. She didn't like owing debts, and she feared she'd already gone above and beyond that.

Clarke paused, and seemed to consider her words carefully before she spoke. “Look, it's hard to explain. Something happened last night, something wanted me to find you.” What else could explain her breaking form, even for an instant? After that the adrenaline had pushed away her fears, that could be explained medically, she'd chosen fight over flight. But in the moment before, something had pulled her eyes outward into the darkness... She she'd seen _her_. “Or at least that's what I believe. So I at least wanna get you healthy before I set you loose.” She wrapped up her foreboding statement with a lame joke, desperately trying to ease the tension.

Lexa nodded, not exactly satisfied, but not going to press it any further. Maybe it really could wait for later.

Clarke seemed to sense it the moment she relented, because she smiled. “There are walkie talkies on the beside table. Channel one will go to me,” she paused to point at the walkie talkie clipped to her hip. “Channel Two goes to the houses' intercom, and channel Three goes to the security guards. You can direct call on a certain channel kind of like a pager with the red button.” Lexa looked to see the one she mentioned and found it quickly. “Any questions?”

Lexa shook her head, a bit overwhelmed.

“Okay. Cool. Seriously, let me know if you need anything. I'll be back around six with dinner.”

Lexa nodded, but still did not speak.

Clarke backed out of the room slowly, satisfied that even if the overwhelming awkward feeling was not entirely dissipated, it was at least lessened. Also, the girl hadn't threatened to press charges for kidnapping her!

“Wait!” Clarke said, startling her for the second time that day. Lexa's eyes flew open wide. “Sorry, you never told me your name!”

The taller girl blinked rapidly. Should she come up with a fake? Surely her father didn't know this random girl, surely he couldn't find her here. “Lexa Woods,” she said, voice so quiet it more of a whisper. Clarke gave her one last linger look, and left her with a smile.

“Nice to meet you, Lexa Woods.”

 

 

\- - - - - - -

 

 

Clarke argued over the phone. Her tone was low and clipped, more of a growl, because she refused to raised her voice. No, no, that would mean her mother had _won_ and she couldn't allow that. She was far and away the more civilized of the two.

“Clarke Elyza Griffin, this is _unacceptable_.” Her mother was livid.

Clarke would not let her know that she was on the edge of tears. “Dad would have understood. I'll visit when everything's done.”

“You took a _job_ instead of coming to your father's _funeral?_ ”

The words bit deep, taking hold of something inside her heart and wrenching. Her father deserved better than this, and her mother deserved better too. Hell, she was even screwing things up with Lexa at every turn, maybe she was just cursed. Clarke knew her mother still had picture of when she was five years old sitting on the mantle above her fireplace. Back when she'd only been fussy at the grocery store, and a “handful” in class.

“You know I can't-” she clamped her teeth down around the sentence, cutting it off. “You know what? I don't have to explain myself to you.” Her thumb smashed down on the red “End” button, but the gesture felt hollow. There was no triumphant finish, just a dull ache. She slumped against the steel fridge, forehead resting against it. She remembered the winter she and her father had spent here with Thelonious and his son while her father had been following a mated pair of peregrines. They had stayed through the spring to see the chicks grow, and to Clarke this cabin felt like the closest thing to a “home” she could remember.

And even it was cold.

The young blonde did what she did best, and picked herself up. She wouldn't want any of the housekeepers to see her that way and mention something to Thelonious, but more than that she just plain refused to let herself mope. She'd chosen her lot, and she would live with it. The room she was staying in was on the lower level of the large cabin. It was a small nook, but one wall was made entirely of glass and afforded her a gorgeous view into the mountains.

She tugged on battered pair of jeans and boots that laced halfway up her shin. Not the fashionable sort but clunky, muddy, rugged. They were waterproof and fit like a glove and they were one of her most prized possessions after her camera. She tugged on a thermal shirt and a fleece and finally a windbreaker before she set her eyes on her camera bag.

She would take the whole thing, but ritual demanded she go over everything at least once before she headed out. Her father's words echoed in her ears, _The perfect shot doesn't care if you're ready or not, and it won't wait until you have your shit together. That's on you._ She smiled.

While it was by no means the fanciest camera out there, that didn't change the fact that it was practically her baby. She cared more for that camera than she did for almost any human on earth, and took meticulous care of it. A Canon EOS 5D Mark III, and her father's gift to her on her twenty-first birthday, when she'd gotten her own job request for the first time, through Jaha's Ark Magazine. She brushed her fingers over the lenses, looking for anything out of the ordinary, and finally slung the bag over her shoulder and headed out.

The area was thick with moss and ferns, so she switched her lens to once better suited for observing the micro. She looked in on insects of every sort, drops of dew and clumps of moss, fragments of ice that still clung to the shadows of rocks and trees. She got shots of young sprouts poking up through the soil at last, though only the most hardy, like the skunk cabbage.

In the woods, her fears faded away. Her memories, her childhood, and her father's presence were strong anywhere the wind was able to blow without blockage, and wherever water flowed without being dammed. She recalled the Grand Canyon, the Louisiana bayou, rice fields in china and seeing wild lions on the African Plains. To her they were one and the same.

In the end, Clarke ended up sitting underneath a broad pine tree. The skirt of it's branches circled round her, and to the outside world she was just a cluster of shadows and depth. Her eyes closed, and she listened to the world breathing around her. When her walkie talkie beeped, the fragile peace around her shattered like a mallet hitting a pane of glass. She flinched.

“C-Clarke?” It was Lexa's voice, but she sounded weak.

“I'm here, are you alright?” Clarke craned her neck over her shoulder. The house sat on a rise just up the hill, she would be able to return in just moments.

When she began to speak her voice was strong, “I... need help,” but at the end it puttered out, laced with uncertainty.

“Be there in a moment,” she said, as cheerily as she could manage.

She scrambled up to the house, and when she broke through the line of trees Clarke's hands were covered with mud and her knees were covered in grass stains and dirt. She kicked her shoes off on the porch and slid across the wooden floor while scurrying to the stairs, partially in error but mostly in fun.

She found Lexa waiting for her, wrapped in a towel, and leaning against the bathroom door. The sound of water running from the shower leaked out from underneath. Clarke raised a brow and Lexa blushed.

“My shoulder was wrenched, and hurts to move,” she said quietly. “I can't unclasp my bra.”

Clarke fought to keep the fiery blush from over taking her face, and was willing to settled for a dusting of pink instead, despite being embarrassed all the same. She nodded, and motioned for Lexa to turn, which she did.

Lexa had wrapped the towel so that while her chest was covered, it was held loosely at her side, exposing her back in all of it's brutal glory. Clarke froze when the dark purple and green markings made sense to her. Two perfectly parallel bruises, one across her shoulders and one on the middle of her back, jumped out, but below them were myriad other. Clarke swallowed hard, her throat having tightened in on itself.

Lexa fidgeted.

“H-how did this happen?” Clarke's fingers trailed lightly over the skin near them, though she was careful not to apply pressure. Still, Lexa jolted away from her, and clutched the towel back over the exposed skin. Clarke wracked her memory. None of the men from last night had been holding any weapons, and besides, a beating probably isn't what they had in mind.

Lexa was silent, her mouth pressed into a thin line and her eyes both wide and frantic. She looked like a frightened animal pressed into the back of a cage.

“You don't have to talk about it,” Clarke said quietly. “But I want to help you. If you're in trouble, I want to be able to do something about it.” Her voice was low and slow, but on the inside she was freaking out a little. What had she gotten herself into?

Lexa watched her carefully, and then her lower lip began to wobble. “My father...”

The weight of her words crushed down on Clarke's chest, threatening to break her in two. Her that had done that to her? When as they spoke her own was being lowered into the ground. That was just cruel. Clarke drew in a deep, shaking breath. “Well, then I pray for his sake that I never meet him.”

Clarke could tell the taller girl wasn't quite sure what to make of her. She still looked like a frightened deer about to bolt, which probably made sense due to the fact that she was wearing nothing but a towel and a bra, which Clarke had forgotten about until just then. Her mouth dried for the second time.

“D-Do you still want, uhm...” She pointed vaguely to Lexa's towel.

The other girl looked down, as if surprised to find it still there. “Yes, please.” Her voice was quiet and soft again.

The curious part of Clarke, the side that had no mind for anyone's business and what made her such an excellent journalist, begged to know more. Where had she come from, and how had she ended up in that alley? What had her life been like? But the part of her that was genuinely concerned for the girl's wellbeing knew better than to ask. So when her back was bared again Clarke unclasped her bra with no huff or fuss, and backed out of the room again with a soft smile and an aching heart.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so excited for this, I wanted to get things started with a bang as a show of good faith!!


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke and Lexa talk business, and start to figure each other out.

When Lexa was finished with her shower, she'd expected to return to her same old outfit. Instead, to her surprise and slight concern, she found a neatly folded pile waiting for her. It was made up of new jeans, undershirt, and a snug woolen sweater. Uncertain what to do in response to the kindness, she considered putting her old clothes back on again anyways, but the evening was a glowing golden color and she knew the air was crisp. Her room's walls were lined with shelves of books and the seats out on the balcony outside looked so inviting... Well, when you put it all together, she lacked the strength to resist.

So instead, Lexa spent most of the evening thinking, and looking out over the beautiful forest she'd been brought to. She wasn't entirely certain where she was, but she did know that it was north of Manhatten. A book on the history of the area's native people lay forgotten on her lap, while her mind wandered to her blonde captor. Lexa was trying to contemplate the existence of a motive, but somehow her mind kept wandering back to the way she'd smiled earlier. It had been so soft, it was almost as if Lexa had felt it. It had seized her lungs and tugged.

She forced herself to focus. What was she going to do? Where was she going to go? She had no family, no job, no money. For a moment she wondered if she was going to cry again but no, Lexa decided she was done with that. She'd made her choices and she would have to stick with them. There was no going back, so she drew in a deep breath and forced her emotions back down. If there was one thing her father had taught her, it was how to handle emotion quietly, calmly. She let her eyes lose focus, and tried to zone out, but in doing so she caught glimpse of something moving in the woods.

Fear thrilled through her unrestrained, and she leaned forward in her seat, trying to get a glimpse and conceal herself behind the balcony's railing at the same time. There was a bit of blue then a flash of gold and Lexa relaxed. Clarke.

The girl was slinking around in the woods, walking low and quietly. In her hand was a small black box, which after a moment Lexa realized was a camera. Clarke brought it up to her eye and froze, becoming as still as a statue for a long moment before click! Her flash popped up, and a pair of blue bird burst upwards from the thicket she walked through.

Clarke stood upright, her face split with a wide grin. Lexa did not move, and she was not seen. Part of her felt as if she were spying or doing something wrong, but if she stood she knew she risked being seen and that seemed just as unpleasant. For a while she watched Clarke work her way through the woods. The girl moved like a ghost through it, a part of it all yet affecting nothing. She seemed practiced and sure footed and Lexa wondered exactly how long she'd been taking pictures for.

Eventually Clarke pulled up short, her walkie chattering. Lexa could not make out what was said but Clarke responded and began to head back up to the house. Lexa sat up smoothly and opened the book in her lap, feigning that she had been reading the whole while, but ultimately she wasn't sure if Clarke had seen her or not.

 

 

\- - - - - - -

 

 

Clarke had been impressed with Thelonious' taste in luxury for her entire life, but what else could you expect in a man that invested in brands, ideas, wealth itself? He had his ideals and she had hers, sure, but that didn't mean she couldn't enjoy it from time to time. This cabin was where Jaha's children spent their summers, holidays, and weekends if they choose, so it is constantly kept by a wonderful staff, one that Clarke had grown quite familiar with.

In particular, she loved the cook.

Marco was a portly Italian man who had studied in almost as many places as she had. He'd run every kind of kitchen from street carts to Michelin Star restaurants, and he knew his way around a meal. When she was young he would sneak her treats and exotic oddities because he knew how much she loved them. It was a trait that she and Jaha shared, so Marco always had something new for her. After she'd left Lexa's room, Marco had found her sitting against a wall outside the kitchen, bawling her eyes out, and in a flurry he'd tried to comfort her.

She couldn't bring herself to reveal Lexa's secrets, so she could only tell Marco that she had had a very hard life and that Clarke was very, very sad for her. That had inspired a passion in the man, who had stood tall and puffed up his chest and declared that tonight Clarke and Guest would eat like queens. He'd ushered her back outside then to relax, and he would call when he was prepared.

When that call came in, she wasn't sure if she was more afraid or excited, but when she walked into the house the smells of it overtook her. Clarke feared that Jaha would have something to say about her emptying his larder, but “anything at all” meant something where she came from! Martin gave her a small boy as she came into the foyer, and informed her that dinner had been set up in Miss Lexa's parlor. Clarke thanked him and rushed up the stairs, nearly forgetting to kick off her boots on the way.

She came into the room quietly, despite her desire to kick down the door, and found a wide-eyed Lexa overlooking a spectacular banquet. Clarke was both blown away and mortified that Marco had gone through so much. How he'd managed it in only a few hours she could not be sure, because the excess before her was baffling.

The center of the table was dominated by a roast, bound in string and springs of rosemary but it was impossible to tell from what animal is came from. The rest of the table was peppered with meat dishes like roast chickens, hamburgers, ham steak, soups and stews, and even a shepherds pie. There were mashed potatoes and stewed turnips, glazed onions, rolls of sushi, sugared plums, smoked salmon and hummus. Marco introduced several dishes Clarke could not have guessed, giving them lofty names like “Griddled halloumi with fennel, lemon and olive salad,” and “Vietnamese Beef, Green Papaya, and Noodle Salad.”

Lexa seemed frozen, and Marco seemed to recognize this, even if he seemed to lack even an ounce of understanding as to why. In fact he looked very proud of himself, all red faced and worn out, and he had every reason to be! Only Clarke wondered how long they had until Lexa bolted.

“And now, we leave you to your evening,” Marco finished his speech with a bow, and he along with the other chefs who had helped him prepare and transport the meal filed out of the room.

Clarke waited until the door latched behind him to say, “I swear I didn't ask him for this.”

Lexa's jaw worked like she wanted to say something, but no words came out.

“Marco is the favorite cook of our friend, Mr. Jaha, and Jaha has a taste for, well, extravagance. It's just Marco's way and you seem kind of freaked out and I'm really, really sorry if this is a lot-” All of her emotions and fears began to tumble out of her mouth all at once, and she had to force herself to stop short.

Now Lexa looked terrified and subtly amused, which she supposed was better than nothing. “Uh...” She trailed for a moment, digging for something to say. “No worries, I was just surprised, is all.”

Lexa wasn't great with change, admittedly, so when the portly Italian man had burst through the door with a small army of station chefs, you could say she was alarmed. Pair that with the fact that the meal before her was more food that she'd ever seen in one place at a time, and Lexa found that her critical thinking skills were short-circuiting. Clarke looked miserable, and Lexa was suddenly overcome with an odd sense of guilt. It wasn't as though she felt she had done anything wrong, but seeing this kind girl so downtrodden spurred her to sit up straight and smile a weak smile.

“We shouldn't let it go to waste though, right?”

Clarke perked up at her words, a tentative smile crossing her lips. “Yeah, probably not.”

Lexa reached for her silverware, and then looked to the table around her, and found that she wasn't entirely sure what anything was, apart from the hamburgers and what she was pretty sure was pasta salad. Her host must have noticed her confusion, because she paused in the middle of scooping food onto her own plate.

“What kind of stuff do you like to eat?” Clarke asked, voice casual.

Lexa shrugged. “None of this, apparently. Uhm... I like chicken. And we use to get take out Chinese a lot.” She blushed, chagrined by how little experience she had in this world Clarke seemed so comfortable in.

“Do you like sushi?” Clarke pointed the tip of her knife to a small wooden platter holding five different rolls, all a myriad of rice, fish, sauces and garnish.

Lexa had never tried it before.

Luckily, Clarke didn't seem to be expecting an answer. “The roll they're on your left is salmon, avocado, and cream cheese. If you dip it in that brown sauce there, it'll be sweet and sour, sort of.”

Lexa did as she said, wary but curious. She'd never been afraid to try new things, but with your one working parent being an alcoholic and New York rent to pay, they'd never had much by way of excess. When she worked the bite of food to her mouth, she found the texture squishy, but the flavors numerous and not at all what she'd been expecting. Clarke laughed a bit at first at her surprised expression, and then outright when Lexa smiled and reached for another bite.

With that the ice was broken and before long Clarke had moved from the far end of the table to sit beside her, so she could point to different dishes and recommend this or that. They spent hours at the table, and by the end of the meal the two young women were laughing and utterly at ease. Clarke fetched a bottle of wine from a tray farther within the room, and when she proffered a glass to Lexa the girl politely declined but urged Clarke to partake. She was two glasses in and the two were working their way through slices of pot pie, which was a homemade variety, which Lexa heartily proclaimed was much better than the microwave variety, thus prompting Clarke to laugh so hard her eyes watered.

“I'm serious, Marie Callender's is good, but Marco and I need to have a chat.”

Clarke wiped her eyes, and gasped for breath. “You ought to visit Ireland some day, there's a corner shop in Galway that would put even him to shame.”

Lexa rolled her eyes at Clarke's hopeful optimism. “Ought to just hop on my magic carpet?”

Clarke tsked. “Oh, you know what I mean! Some day, when you've found out what you're meant to do in life.”

Her smiled turned sad then, and Lexa shook her head. “Has anyone ever called you painfully optimistic?”

“No,” Clarke said with a scoff. “Usually just the opposite.”

 _Well then I'm afraid you're just naïve,_ Lexa waned to say, but she knew it would be rude and she didn't exactly want to burst Clarke's bubble. Something about her sense of unrestrained freedom was beyond refreshing. Lexa was fairly certain that her host truly believed anything was possible if you put your mind to it, one of _those_ sorts.

So in the end Lexa just shrugged.

She could not remember ever being so full. By now Clarke was on her third glass of wine and had an easy, relaxed way about her. Lexa was as wary of alcohol as any child raised with drunkard father has a right to be, but she knew the difference between drinking for fun and drinking for emotion. Unfortunately, she got the sense that Clarke was somewhere in between.

She gathered her courage and asked Clarke, “So why are you staying at your friend's property in the first place?”

The other girl froze. Her eyes were warm and glossy but there was pain in their centers. “Few weeks ago Jaha asked me to investigate a lead of his on a lot near here. We have a certain deal whenever I work for him, because it usually involves breaking a law or two.”

Lexa's eyes widened. “Oh... A few weeks ago? You've been here all this time?” She wondered what kind of job would require that. She hoped her polite interest would shake Clarke from her sudden dark mood but it only got worse.

She shook her head. “Nah, my father died a few days. I was in town for the funeral.”

“Oh,” Lexa said quietly, not sure what else to say.

“I wasn't able to make it, but I found you so at least some good came of it.” Clarke didn't think through her words and didn't give them a second thought, but to Lexa a statement so genuine and kind took the wind from her lungs.

“Yeah,” she agreed half-heartedly, still at a loss for words.

Clarke seemed desperate to change the top, and she clapped her hands together gently before sitting up. “So. Do you have any plans at the moment?”

Lexa's heart sank, and reality crashed back in. She shook her head.

“In that case, I have a proposition for you.” Clarke had spent the better part of the day thinking it over, in between taking about a thousand new pictures. She had gotten what she thought was a pretty good read on Lexa relatively quickly, and she had the sneaking suspicion that she would bolt. Lexa freaked whenever she was offered help, or if she thought she was being a bother. She wouldn't let herself just sit around and be useless.

She was right.

Lexa raised a brow and nodded, waiting for Clarke to go on.

The blonde ran a nervous hand through her hair, then launched into it. “Okay, the meat of it is that I've got five days to prepare myself to impersonate a PhD graduate from Cambridge, and I need someone to help me research.”

Lexa blinked at her.

“I know it sounds crazy, but hear me out. Jaha is wealthy because he's everywhere. He has people all over the world waiting for things to happen, so that he can twist the field. He's a businessman of sorts. But sometimes to get the information he needs he needs to employ some unusual means. As journalists we can do a lot with freedom of speech. I don't work for him often because of the risks, but he compensates well, and I mean company cards without limits. Part of our personal deal is that I get free rein, and that means I have the authority to hire you on as my assistant.”

Lexa was having a harder and harder time believing the yarn Clarke was spinning, but she went along with it. “Let's say I believe you. Why me?” Why had she done anything for Lexa in the first place?

“Because you can keep your cool. I've seen some crazy things in my life, but the only people who can keep their calm the way you have after losing their home were war refugees in Syria. I believe you've been through hell, and those are the only people I've bee able to trust not to muck up an act.” She cracked a grin. “Plus it'll be fun and it'll pay well. I promise. Interesting topic, too.”

Lexa just raised a brow.

“A group of researchers has discovered the burial of viking remains on our shores predating Columbus, just ten miles from here.” There was a light in Clarke's eyes, something excited and childlike. “The skeletons are still being exhumed, but they've unearthed loads of artifacts. Jaha wants me to get in and get a story ready for his magazine the moment they announce the find. After the uprise, and if his magazine pulls in enough profit he'll petition to buy the site. Twenty percent of all fallout profit returns to me... And any associates.”

Lexa sat back into her chair. What was this, Indiana Jones? This girl, this _stranger_ was asking her to go tomb raiding. This had to be a dream. Lexa laughed, but it was a dry sound. “Am I being punked? Really though, be honest with me.”

Clarke's face fell.

“I don't mean to be rude,” Lexa hurried, “but you have to get where I'm coming from. This kind of thing doesn't just happen.”

Clarke fiddled with a bit of quiche on her plate, and took a hesitant bite to buy time. She didn't know how to explain why she was so _fixated_ without explaining everything. Finally, after swallowing and taking a deep breath, she said, “I guess it's complicated. I have something called Agoraphobia. Medically, it's the fear of your environment. For me, it triggers when I'm in cities or crowded spaces, when I can't see the sky. My father had it too.” She looked out the window, and willed back a wave of tears. “It makes spending time in even small towns really challenging, let alone cities like New York.

So he and I travelled the world. He was a freelance photographer. He helped me learn about my condition, and learn how to handle it. Five years ago something clicked, he figured it out, and he retired. I was so... stressed and scared, when I found you last night I was headed here anyways. I couldn't even stay for my father's funeral. I loved him more than anything and...” She could not stop the tears, but she fought to keep her voice steady. “The cab ride out of the city was hard. I have to keep my eyes on the floor or I typically fall into a panic attack. I've never looked up before but something just...” She waved her hand in a loose circle, and vague gesture to convey her utter lack of explanation.

Lexa slumped in her chair. It was hard to picture someone like Clarke tied down by anything let alone fear. She had been nothing but confident and bright since she'd awoken. Lexa concluded instead that she was a fantastic actor, and suddenly her perspective of the girl changed. In retrospect she began to see the strain in her smiles, and weight on her shoulders.

“I-I'm sorry,” Clarke said quickly. “I didn't mean to dump all that on you, it's too much, I just-”

“No,” Lexa said quickly. “I'm glad you did. It's nice to understand you.” She began to blush again, but pressed on. “Or your motives, I mean. Both. I'm sorry about your father.”

Clarke looked her in the eyes and frowned, some of her bold demeanor returning. She knew it would be brash, but... “I'm sorry about yours.” Lexa tensed, but she did not flinch or look awake. She just nodded. “You are within legal rights to press charges. To get restraining orders, any of it. I could help you.”

Lexa shook her head, a slow and quiet gesture that lacked more than just hope. She had no more fight left to offer the man. “I just want away from him. No hearings, to trials, I never want to hear his voice for as long as I live.” She just wanted to disappear.

Clarke nodded, and smiled. “Come work for me. I'll take you anywhere you want to go.”

Lexa's breath caught in her throat. She smiled a small little smile and her eyes narrowed. “You haven't told me exactly what I'll be doing, you know.”

Clarke's eyes lit again with a renewed fire, and she folded her hands in front of her before launching into the details of her hastily cobbled plan. Around nine Marco brought them mochas and marshmallows, with cinnamon sticks to stir, and when he came back with refills at ten they were still at it. By midnight Clarke requested a change to black coffee and two laptops. He smiled and hummed to himself as he whipped up a small midnight treat. His grandmother's words echoed in his mind: _Un buon pasto sbloccherà un cuore, ma un ottimo pasto può guarire uno..._

 

[Translation: A good meal will unlock a heart, but a great meal can heal one.]

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus comic can be found on my tumblr! (foxipaw.tumblr.com)


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lexa and Clarke talk shop and get comfy, and are surprised by some unexpected guests.

Lexa awoke energized, and perplexed. The room around her was still unfamiliar, and the weight on the bed beside her was stranger yet. In her sleepy haze she pushed a hand forward, trying to distinguish what exactly had her trapped under the blankets. Her eyes cracked open and stared into a world of gold and bright light. She blinked once ore twice, trying to clear her sight just as her hand touched something warm.

Lexa gasped and flinched back. Last night rushed back to her in a blur... for the most part. She'd passed out around two in the morning, the last thing she remembered was Clarke perched at the end of her bed, reading glasses on, pajama shorts riding up. Lexa drew in a deep, quiet breath. Apparently Clarke had crashed too.

The other woman must have felt her touch because she shifted. Lexa panicked, fearing she'd awoken her and now she would have to face such an awkward conversation, but instead Clarke just rolled over towards her, away from the persistent sunlight streaming through the window. In fact, she rolled dangerously close. Their faces were only inches apart, and Lexa could see every feature of her face in the finest detail, even the faint freckles earned from a life in the sun.

Slowly, quietly, she drew backwards and up from the bed. The wooden floor beneath her feet was cold, and a shock to her addled mind and flushed skin. She ghosted through the room on her tip toes, and slipped into the hallway before collapsing against the wall.

Last night had been an odd mixture of the most rigorous game of twenty questions she'd ever played, crossed with studying for finals. It should have been terrible, but Lexa felt herself getting more and more interested in the girl who had essentially kidnapped her, and held her against her will. Anya was never going to believe this- Oh. She realized with a start that she hadn't told her one and only friend any of this.

She chewed on her lip for a moment. She didn't want to go wandering around someone else's house, guest or not, but she had no idea where to find a phone. There hadn't been one in her room, and she didn't see one in the hallways, and she wasn't about to go ask Clarke. She steeled herself and set out in the direction she'd heard the cooks come from last night.

Lexa had to hand it to the architects who designed the place, and whatever interior designer had furnished it. This had to be one of the most beautiful houses she'd ever seen. Masterfully hewn wood furniture mixed with glass and metal in something that felt luxurious but still had it's heart in something woodsy and much older. The hallway came to a stair case and a balcony over looking a large living room. The wall opposite her was entirely glass, and the level below her spread out both to the left and right. She saw a sitting room with a fireplace to her right, a large TV, and to the left she thought she saw the start of a kitchen, but as she came down the stairs she saw it was actually just another sitting area.

This place was huge.

She was moments from retreating back up the stairs when none other than Marco emerged from a hallway on her left. His eyes lit up when he saw her, and Lexa couldn't help but smile a bit.

“Miss Lexa! Good morning! Or good afternoon, should I say?” He let out a rich laugh.

She realized she had no idea what time it actually was and sighed. Her sleep schedule was going to be so messed up after all of this. Her laugh was weak. “Yeah, we got a little carried away. Do you know where I could find a phone?” She asked it quickly, eager to be away.

Marco nodded and turned, heading back the way he'd come and waving over his shoulder for her to follow. The hallway ended in double doors, which opened into a hexagonal room. On level dropped below her, set on the side of the house, and two more levels stretched above her. Where the walls were not cluttered with shelves there were panes of glass. The room was filled with an abundance of natural light, and the floor below her was cluttered with sofas, chairs, tables, and desks. Her jaw dropped. Last night Clarke had left and returned with books, but Lexa had not guessed that they might have come from a place like this.

Marco laughed when he saw the look on her face. “You are a fan of books?”

Lexa, having been rendered temporarily mute, nodded. When she regained the ability to speak she could only mumble under her breath, “Anya will never believe this.”

Marco seemed to hear her anyways. “Who is this Anya of yours? Good friend?”

Lexa blushed. “My foster sister, and best friend since elementary school. She doesn't even know I'm gone, I don't think.”

Marco nodded and walked across the balcony to a small inlet where a desk sat. A wireless phone sat atop it and he handed it to her. “I will make sure no one disturbs you, Miss Lexa.”

She smiled a rare, genuine smile at the kindness in his eyes. “Thank you!”

He gave her a nod before walking off. Her fingers flew over the dial pad.

 

 

\- - - - - - - -

 

 

 

Clarke awoke in the same mystified fog that Lexa had. At first she feared she was still in New York, but waking up in a room she did not recognize did nothing to calm her beating heart. It took a moment for her to recall that this was in fact Lexa's room, and the night came back to her piece by piece. They had a lot to do today. She looked around the room for where the girl had gone to, and her eyes fell on the empty depression on the side of the bed. Her heart stuttered, and she remembered her last conscious moment from last night, too tired to return to her own room.

And now Lexa was gone.

Clarke threw the covers from over top of her and sprang out of bed, stumbling as she made towards the door. She threw it open and found the hallway empty. Sighing, Clarke slumped against the wall. They had done a lot last night, and by the end of things she had begun to think very highly of her guest. Lexa was bright, both in raw intelligence and wit. She was guarded, which had made her a quick thinker, and subtle. Clarke had been having a blast with a game of twenty-Q, trying to extrapolate as much as she could from her simple replies.

Of course, she'd also been drinking, so it was all a little fuzzy.

She checked the kitchen first, but she found nothing. A hall clock told her it was just past two in the afternoon, so they'd missed both breakfast and lunch. For the next three hours the house staff had a break to carry out their own affairs before they returned to begin preparing dinner. Clarke checked the bathrooms and Jaha's entertainment room, and then kicked herself when she found Lexa in the library, because after last night she should have guessed this place first.

She came upon the balcony unnoticed and unannounced. Lexa had not heard her push open the doors, and did not notice her place her hands on the railing above. The taller girl and sprawled herself over a loveseat, and was surrounded with different books of every kind. She found a notebook or three which Clarke could see had been scribbled in, even from where she stood.

Lexa spoke, and fear trilled through Clarke until she realized the girl was on the phone.

“I know, and for the thousandth time I'm sorry- Okay, well then tell Bellamy I'm sorry too. I didn't mean to worry you guys. But seriously this article is really cool would you just-” Lexa's voice cut off with an exasperated sigh.

Clarke wondered who she was talking to, because her voice seemed utterly relaxed. Her voice had lost it's prim and guarded edge, and exasperation was plain on her face.

“Griffin, Anya. I'm pretty sure her last name is Griffin. Wha- No! I have not googled her.”

So, maybe Clarke was perfectly aware that backing up into the doorway where Lexa couldn't see her was technically eavesdropping, but could you blame her? Curiosity was her business.

“Yeah, she mentioned that her father taught her the trade,” Lexa mumbled, sounding distracted. Clarke couldn't see her any longer but she pictured her bringing the book close to her face to peer at a picture, as she'd done several times last night. Clarke smiled. “No, honestly I'm not listening, because I don't care about your insatiable need to micromanage my life.”

The weight in her pause was palpable and it was a long moment before she went on.

“Look, I know you're just looking out for me, but it's unwarranted, I promise- Yes, I know that it's crazy, and- No! I am not going to introduce you to her!” Lexa sighed again, this time a long and ragged noise, exasperated. “Anya, I will kill you. If I ask, will you shut up? Only because I know she'll say no, of course.” Another pause then, “What do you mean, 'you know I'm not gonna ask?'”

Clarke decided that the guilt was too much, and loudly grasped the door handle, making sure it rattled as she moved, making it look as she had walked through.

Lexa jumped and looked up at her with wide, guilty eyes. “Gotta go, Anya.” She hung the phone up with an audible 'beep!'

Clarke feigned guilt. “Was I interrupting?”

“Not at all,” Lexa assured. “We'd already been talking for like an hour anyways.”

“Friend?” Clarke tried to ask as innocently as possible.

“Foster sister, actually,” Lexa responded, her own voice seeming a little too non-nonchalant as well. Clarke was intensely curious about their conversation, but she knew better than to ask. “She uh...” Lexa's head hung forward in the same kind of exasperation Clarke had heard from her when she was on the phone. “She's worried. She wants to come see me.”

“Sure,” Clarke said quickly.

Lexa seemed surprised. Her eyes flew open wide and her mouth dropped. “Y-you don't have to, she's just being a pain, really-”

“I mean, do you want her here?” Clarke asked quietly. “Because it's no issue. If you want to see your sister, of course she can come. Tell her to pack a bag, there are spare rooms.” If it would make Lexa happy, of course. She'd just seen a glimpse of whatever was under that carefully constructed shell, and she wanted to see more.

Lexa seemed frozen. Finally she nodded.

Clarke beamed. “Excellent. That reminds me, I thought of a few things last night. Do you need a cell phone, or clothing, or anything like that? Medications, maybe, anything?”

Still she didn't speak, but she remained just as shocked.

“Because I can get you a company phone set up, and Jaha always gives me a five hundred dollar amazon card to start jobs off for any gear I need prior to travel, but I'm already set, so I was thinking I could give that to you and-”

Lexa held up a hand, and she stopped. “Clarke, you're killing me here.” She was surprised to find a small smile tugging at the corner of Lexa's lips.

Clarke smiled in response. “You know what, I'm just going to stop asking.” She pulled out her phone and began rapidly texting. Lexa allowed her head to fall backwards against the couch, humored but unsure what what she'd just gotten herself into. She stood and walked to the window, calling Anya back quickly. This time Clarke tried her best to block out their conversation, feeling that she'd invaded Lexa's privacy enough for right now.

 

 

\- - - - - - -

 

 

Clarke asked Lexa about Anya, or tried to at least, but found Lexa guarded if only because Anya evoked such emotion in her. She would hide small smiles behind books or turn her head away. Every time she did Clarke thought to herself, _Game on._ She did manage to glean that while Lexa was the only true born child her parents had had, she was not the only one unfortunate enough to be raised by them. Anya had become a semi-pro boxer, but she made her living as a tattoo artist. Clarke could tell how much Lexa looked up to her.

They spent their day delving deeper into their research. Slowly, a plan was coming together. Jaha had sent over an email detailing everything he knew. A local man had found the burial site after trying to unroot some trees on his land. He'd called the police first, and then they had contacted a team out of Columbia University to excavate. As of now it was still very hush hush so Clarke's job was to get it, get pictures, and get out.

Her plan was to pose as a officiate of the University, working through a private donor, one setting up an experimental 3D Imaging site map. According to Jaha it was something their department head had been after for a long time, but the team was to keep it hush hush, it was supposed to be a surprise. Lexa would pose as her assistant because no upper level staff member went anywhere without at least one grad student trailing behind to carry their bags.

She sent an email out to Jaha explaining what they'd found so far and what she planned to do, and her laptop beeped as the message sent. Lexa looked up.

“How goes it?” Clarke asked.

“Did you know vikings knew how to ski?” Clarke chuckled and Lexa went on with a smile on her face. “They used to do it for travel and fun, and even worshipped their god Ullr for it.”

That had Clarke laughing outright. “My father and I went to Ullr Fest in Colorado for my twenty-first birthday, it was madness. Also the greatest day of my life.”

Lexa raised a brow and Clarke launched into the story. She had a magnetic way of talking that made you draw inwards, made you believe anything she had to say. Lexa found it borderline addicting, but Clarke was eager to feed her. She had led an extraordinary life, and she was brimming with experiences that would make even the Los Equis man envious.

They had just finished dinner when three sharp raps sounded on the front door. Lexa and Clarke shared a perplexed look. They did not wait long before Martin appeared at the library's second floor balcony. “Miss Griffin?”

She looked upwards.

“A miss Anya is here.”

She and Lexa exchanged startled looks. Anya had said she'd be there in two days at the earliest.

“And... guests.”

Clarke was only pleasantly curious but Lexa's face filled with color.

“Who?!” She asked, sounding alarmed and with more passions than Clarke had seen in her anywhere outside of fear.

“I could not say, miss. Two exuberant girls and two boys carrying most of their things.”

Lexa sank into her chair, and buried her face in her hands. “Oh no...”

“What is it?” Clarke asked, not sure whether to be amused or alarmed.

“She brought the others.”

 

 

\- - - - - - -

 

 

Lexa could not believe Anya. For one, this wasn't like her, and for two, how had she managed to mobilize everyone so quickly? She was impressed and horrified, but she could not for the life of her find the anger in Clarke. She seemed so... flippant. It was so unlike what Lexa had expected of humanity in general that she could only be flummoxed, and as such followed the butler and Clarke like little more than a sheep.

When she set eyes on her sister, all of that changed. Anya's features were a bit different from hers, sure, but they shared the same fire. Where as Lexa's was quiet and steady, Anya's flared wildly and it followed her everywhere she went. When she was fourteen she built her first motorcycle, and when she was sixteen she took it all apart and built it again for kicks. She had spent a large portion of her youth roaming the streets doing less than legal things, but a near death scare in her early twenties had straightened her out.

She'd learned how to tattoo from a gang guy she'd dated just for the lessons, or so she claimed. Over the years she'd gotten pretty damn good at it, and now she worked out of a shop on E 156th and Park. Her hobbies included building and selling choppers, and she'd met Raven at the hardware store, where they'd spent two hours arguing over the proper way to fabricate custom parts, then a long night drinking. With her had come others that Lexa had grown to care for deeply, but she was never a fan of crowds.

Clarke walked forward like she owned the place, her golden curls pulled up into a perfect messy bun. She wore dark blue jeans and a crisp white button up shirt and she looked perfect. Lexa watched her friends like a hawk, translating every reaction into something more.

“Hey there! We didn't expect you guys so soon, I'm not sure if rooms are set up yet.” She folded her hands behind her back.

Anya gave her a once over, looking her up and down, head to toe. Clarke bore the blatant examination with quiet patience. “You're the one who scooped up Lexa?”

Clarke nodded.

Anya strode forward and Clarke tensed as if expecting Anya to slug her, but at the last moment Anya held out a hand. Clarke stared at the limb for a long moment before extending her own hand for a shake.

“I'm Anya Woods.” Clarke was surprised to find that Anya shared Lexa's last name if she was a foster sibling, but she'd save that question for later. “And I'm in your debt.”

“Actually, I'm in Lexa's. She's made herself very useful these past two days.”

Lexa's cheeks tinged pink and one of the girls standing behind Anya snorted. She stepped forward. Her skin was a tone darker than the others, her hair a rich mahogany. Her heart-shaped face bore a smirk and she too looked Clarke up and down.

“Damn Lex, you didn't tell us she was hot!”

Clarke's cheeks colored prettily and she laughed off the comment. Lexa's stomach felt like it was filled with pop rocks and soda. She held out a hand to Raven, too. “I'm Clarke Griffin, I'm a freelance photographer. Lexa's agreed to help me on an assignment for Ark Magazine.”

“Wow, you photograph for Ark?” The other girl said. She was tan, but it seemed to be from time under the sun based on the lighter skin at her hairline. She had a rugged look to her voice and attire.

“I write for them occasionally too. That's what we'll be doing here, actually.”

The girl looked properly impressed. She introduced herself as Octavia, the loud mouth's better half, even though she was apparently dating one of the men behind them. The one with cropped hair smiled at her, and he was introduced as Lincoln. The other man was her brother, Bellamy.

“Now that that's out of the way,” Lexa broke in. “What are you all _doing_ , here, I said Anya could check in, not move in!”

Raven waved her off. “No way Lexa, we've been planning for this moment for you for the last six years, are you kidding me? You're finally free! Of course we're going to be here!”

Anya shook her head from side to side. “She's a force of nature, really.”

“Hey, give credit where credit is due,” Octavia broke in. “I mobilized us, got everyone off work for the next week, _and_ still managed to pack snacks for the trip.”

Raven sidled over to her and held up her hands, wiggling them above Octavia. “Just let that credit just, _roll_ over ya babe.”

Octavia scrubbed at herself like she was showering.

Lexa turned to Clarke, horrified. “I am so sorry about them.”

Clarke, however, was covering her mouth to hold in her laughter.

Anya walked over and threw an arm around Lexa's gobsmacked shoulders. “C'mon kid, relax.” She left out the _please_ that came from the part of her who had only seen the girl let her guard down once or twice in her entire life. The hour they had spent on the phone that morning had told her more than Lexa probably knew, but Anya had to see it for herself.

“We'll get your rooms set up,” Clarke was saying. “And then we'll get something to eat. Pizza?”

Lexa's friends let out a cheer and followed Clarke like ducking towards the north wing of the house where the bedrooms were. Anya lingered behind with her. Once the others were out of ear shot, Anya turned her hasty grasp into a full blown hug. Lexa leaned into her, and felt a weight lift from her shoulders, one she hadn't known was there.

“Are you okay?” Anya asked simply.

“I'm getting there.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay! Things are going to start rolling from here on!! Chapters are going to start getting longer and updates will be less frequent, but now that everything is set up and we can begin building upwards. Woo!


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